


Playtime

by aishahiwatari



Category: The Boys (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Animal Ears, Animal Play, Black Panties, Bottom!Butcher, Established Relationship, M/M, Non-Verbal Safewords, Oral Sex, PWP, Praise Kink, Rimming, Swearing, Top!Hughie, Undernegotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 12:21:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20506919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aishahiwatari/pseuds/aishahiwatari
Summary: There are many words for what Butcher is at that moment. A lot of them, like gorgeous, sexy, mind-bogglingly stunning, apply all the time.Hughie can’t recall, however, a single instance during which he has ever thought of Butcher as adorable, prior to now, when he cautiously reaches out to touch the tip of one of the black, pointed dog ears presumably attached to a headband that’s lost somewhere in Butcher’s dark hair.





	Playtime

**Author's Note:**

> Publishing on mobile so I'm sorry for any formatting issues... and the general content

“There’s something- I’d like to try,” Butcher confesses, one night, when they’re in his bed, Hughie dozing with his head on Butcher’s chest, both of them sticky and sweaty and sated.

“Something new?” Hughie stirs, because this is important. It’s Butcher opening up to him, letting him in past that usually impenetrable guard. They’ve been dating for a while and Hughie’s been chipping away, but this feels like a breakthrough. And he’s certainly not going to complain about anything they do in the bedroom. Butcher is gorgeous, indulgent, surprisingly soft and brutally hard in all the right places, but so far they haven’t done anything they need to talk about, beyond checking in occasionally.

“Something- different.”

Is Butcher nervous? He won’t meet Hughie’s eyes, and he swallows thickly when he’s done. Hughie lays a hand flat on his chest to feel the way his heart pounds. “Different is good. I mean, the same is also good. I love everything we do. It’s- nothing that’s gonna hurt either of us?” Hughie has to ask, because something that makes Butcher nervous is likely to terrify him. He’s never heard that level of hesitation before, not in anything Butcher’s said, and he has to make sure.

“No, just-“ finally those gorgeous hazel eyes meet his, and fuck, Butcher is nervous. He’s worried about this. “I need you not to laugh.”

“I promise,” Hughie says.  _ Holy shit, _ he thinks. “Never. What is it?”

“Can I show you? Not now.”

“Yeah. Of course. Whenever you want. If you like it, I’m sure I’ll love it.”

Butcher looks doubtful. But he nods. That’s good, right? Hughie’s so fucking awkward sometimes but he tries his best.

He just hopes it’s good enough.

-

“Oh my fucking God,” he says, when Butcher shows him.

It’s been a couple of weeks. Hughie hasn’t wanted to pressure him, and Butcher hasn’t brought it up, but he’s cast a couple of assessing glances in Hughie’s direction like he’s been considering it. To be honest, Hughie had thought maybe they’d talk about it a bit more before leaping into anything, but this- “Holy fucking shit.”

He’s breathless, awestruck, light-headed from getting hard so fast. In an abstract way, he can see why Butcher might have been worried he was going to laugh but it’s the furthest thing from his mind. Mostly he’s struggling to articulate anything that isn’t another collection of overwhelmingly aroused expletives.

Hughie’s had a pretty decent day at work, but he knows Butcher didn’t. He’s been sending multiple rant-filled messages maligning every aspect of his job, his colleagues and the general public in between hours of radio silence, replying to absolutely nothing Hughie said in response. Honestly, Hughie had expected to come around and find him in a terrible mood, drinking himself into oblivion, ready to tell Hughie that he should go and stay at his dad’s for the night.

This is not that.

“You look amazing,” Hughie finally manages to say in actual words, swallows wetly afterwards because fuck, his mouth is watering, his mind overcome with the urge to touch, to taste. He’s never been the possessive type but this, he wants to claim, wants to keep as his and only his forever. It’s astounding that he’s even being trusted so much when Butcher is so worried, when this appears to go against his nature so clearly.

Butcher visibly relaxes at the compliment, although in terms of his tension level as a whole he’s just edging down from a ten. His shoulders are bunched, his posture rigid where he kneels -fucking kneels- on his living room floor. He’s been waiting for Hughie to come home.

Kneeling. Waiting. Dressed like that.

It’s a clear indication of a role he wants to take, tonight, of how he wants Hughie to act. And Hughie has never exactly felt confident as the more dominant one in any relationship, but Butcher knows that, and he’s trusting him. Hughie could break him, could shatter everything they have with a single thoughtless reaction, and that’s something he can’t allow himself to do.

He has the internet. He can do this safely, if not incredibly well, and they can talk about it, and Hughie can have some images to fuel the best kinds of dreams for the rest of his fucking life because he could never have dared imagine this, but now he’s seen it he can’t think of anything else.

If he’s honest, it’s still not sinking in, but at least his sincerely, stupidly aroused reaction has made Butcher lose a little of the tension in his shoulders. He lifts his chin and preens a little hopefully as Hughie takes him in, drops his bag and kicks off his shoes to step closer and really look.

There are many words for what Butcher is at that moment. A lot of them, like gorgeous, sexy, mind-bogglingly stunning, apply all the time.

Hughie can’t recall, however, a single instance during which he has ever thought of Butcher as adorable, prior to now, when he cautiously reaches out to touch the tip of one of the black, pointed dog ears presumably attached to a headband that’s lost somewhere in Butcher’s dark hair. It’s very possibly the cutest thing Hughie’s ever seen, Butcher watching him with wide, dark eyes as he strokes the soft fur. And Hughie’s touch stirs his hair, and he pushes into it, just a little. Hughie pets him with shaking hands, scratches at his scalp, just behind those ears, draws a breathy whine that shoots straight to his dick.

Hughie kneels, too, so they’re on a level and he no longer has to worry about passing out with how turned on he is, meets questioning eyes and does his best to smile reassuringly. He lets a hand drift lower to rub against Butcher’s beard, has always loved the sound and feel of it against his lightly scratching nails and so rarely been allowed to indulge his desire to touch.

“I like this,” he says, to momentarily widened eyes, a warm nose pressing into his palm, a quick, assessing glance before a wet, pink tongue darts out to lap, just briefly at his skin.

Honestly, he nearly creams his pants right there, manages somehow to hold himself back, cradles Butcher’s face and guides him in so he can press a lingering kiss to his coarsely furred cheek. He feels Butcher relax with a sigh, sag a little against him, has so many things he needs to address but settles for the most urgent in a low, soothing tone.

“Is talking to me going to take you out of your headspace?”

Downcast eyes, the faintest nod. Okay. Hughie can deal with that if he just- okay.

“I have an idea, can you-“ Except, no. Hughie eases Butcher back, makes sure he’s steady before standing, a little wobbly himself. He touches a finger to Butcher’s nose, which makes him narrow his eyes, but he’s far too cute to be threatening at that moment, and Hughie knows what to do.

“Stay,” he says, with what command he can tap into, and Butcher’s eyes flutter closed. Fuck. Hughie’s doomed. He can’t stop imagining Butcher finishing work, coming home, stripping off and getting dressed like that, adjusting the headband so his ears sat properly- just, fuck. There’s more than Hughie hasn’t even dared to look at yet, but before he gets caught up he really needs to breathe.

He takes a moment to adjust himself in his jeans, too, because this isn’t about him and it might not even be a sex thing, as he retrieves what he needs and returns to -oh, Jesus fuck, how is he ever supposed to get used to that- Butcher, kneeling, head bowed, the curve of his neck revealing the slim, black band around it, not quite a collar but definitely close enough.

And Hughie doesn’t know if it’s the right thing to do, but when he kneels again, sets down his items, he cradles Butcher’s face, strokes his beard with both thumbs, looks him in the eye and says, “Good boy.”

Butcher gasps like the breath’s been punched from him, sags forwards into Hughie’s arms and presses his face against Hughie’s throat, panting. Hughie’s a little worried about him for a moment, but Butcher whines an objection when he tries to pull away, so he just holds him close, strokes up and down his back, tries not to tense too much when- “Holy fuck I just saw the tail.”

Butcher smiles against his skin and  _ waggles his ass, _ and Hughie nearly dies right there, threads the fingers of one hand into Butcher’s hair to scratch behind the furry ears as with the other hand he reaches down to toy with-

The sound that leaves Hughie in that moment of realisation is caught between an inhuman cry and incomprehensible swearing, because those are not, as he had thought, Butcher’s usual tight, black boxer briefs. They’re briefs, and they’re black, but they’re satin and they’re frilled and this is pressing so many buttons Hughie hadn’t even known he had and this one which he had definitely known about and dreamed about and hardly dared to long for.

And the tail, the long, black, fluffy tail that presently curls neatly around Butcher’s ass, protrudes from underneath them.

For a moment, Hughie struggles to breathe through the intoxicating promise of it all, has to hold Butcher close and regain his composure. He has to be the one in control here. Butcher is trusting him, is so sweetly vulnerable and yet entirely himself that Hughie can’t stand the thought of letting him down.

On that front, he finds his resolve, and he rights them both, and he produces the two items he picked up. They’re two of Butcher’s terrible shirts, one red and one green, and Hughie sets them down on either side of Butcher, within his reach, red on his dominant side.

“It’s okay if you can’t talk. But we haven’t done this before and- sometimes I’m gunna need to ask you for a colour-“

Butcher immediately puts a hand down on -paws at, Hughie’s mind supplies- the green shirt. And Hughie had guessed, but it fills him with untold relief and pride to have it confirmed.

“Thank you,” he breathes, a little tearfully, and fuck, they’re really doing this. He feels a surge of affection for this brave, strong man, reaches out to touch but Butcher winces just fractionally as he leans into it, shifts his weight, and he can’t have that. Staying in that position for so long on the wood floor must be killing his knees. “Not here. I know dogs aren’t usually allowed on the furniture, but I can’t resist you.” He pets, briefly, at Butcher’s beard, and then he gives his shoulder a little push, and points. “Bed. Now.”

Butcher’s apartment is a studio, and his bed is a mattress on the floor, so it’s not far to go. He still considers the distance with wide eyes, and Hughie picks up the shirts, offers them both to him and earns a brief touch of the green one before he leads the way.

He clambers onto the mattress and he sprawls out on his back with a groan, because it’s comfortable and the smell reminds him of Butcher and home and sex, and then he lifts his head, pats his own thigh and says. “Come on. Here, boy.”

It could be a joke, but he makes sure it doesn’t sound like one, keeps his voice low and coaxing and smiles when Butcher twists, gets on all fours and crawls.

“Christ,” Hughie breathes helplessly, kind of contemplating seeing this view from behind but in no way complaining about what he is being allowed to appreciate, Butcher’s muscled arms and shoulders flexing, his movements somehow lithe and graceful, his eyes dark and intent on Hughie.

And he’s not just allowed to look, he can touch, reaching out as Butcher crawls over him, noses at his throat, his body so familiarly strong and warm and blanketing, so much skin on display.

“You happy to see me?” he asks, petting thick, dark hair and lovely soft, pointed ears as Butcher nuzzles at him, licks where he knows Hughie is sensitive, makes him shiver. “You been waiting for me to come home like a good boy?”

Hughie has no idea how he could never have realised he’s into this. Butcher is sweetly affectionate, like he’s only ever been during his afterglow before, and freeing him of the need to speak seems to have suppressed his instinct to defensively posture.

“You’re perfect,” Hughie murmurs to him, when he manages to press his lips to that coarse beard, earns himself a look of wide-eyed surprise for just a moment, and then a brief, fleeting swipe of Butchers tongue across Hughie’s bottom lip. That, he maybe misses. He loves kissing Butcher, feeling him, tasting him, and licking the taste of him off his own lips is not quite enough. But he can wait.

Especially as Butcher noses his way down, takes the hem of Hughie’s shirt between his teeth and pulls until he relents and removes it, squirming out of it and throwing it aside, squirming and trying not to giggle when Butcher laps at his skin, leaves little wet patches over his ribs, lingers over his nipples, gets them wet and hard before licking his way down his stomach.

And Hughie hadn’t known, but he’d been hoping and praying. Butcher noses insistently at the bulge in his jeans, and he laps at Hughie’s fingers when he fumbles with the button and the zipper, when he shoves everything down and out of the way.

It should not be nearly as hot as it is, but Hughie’s hard and aching, the slow, wet lathes of Butcher’s tongue both torturous and soothing. He groans and lets his head fall back against the mattress, forgets to pet until Butcher pauses to look at him, his eyes sweetly appealing.

“Fuck, alright,” Hughie pants, reaching out, tangling his fingers in Butcher’s hair, stroking his ears, arching and groaning at the hot, slick laps of that tongue, caressing his balls, swiping up the underside, swirling around the head. He won’t suck, like he won’t kiss, but he doesn’t need to. Hughie just waits until he’s good and wet, and then he reaches down to help, to wrap a hand around his cock and stroke. He’s already so close, has been since the moment he walked in and saw what Butcher looks like, so his hips are twitching, his toes curling within a few tugs.

His arousal ramps inexorably higher when Butcher laps at the pre-come he’s coaxing from the head, gives Hughie a significant look with his mouth open and his tongue out.

“Fuck, are you sure?” Hughie manages to ask, holding back by some utter miracle as Butcher levels him with that don’t-fucking-question-my-kinks-Hughie expression and Hughie wants to watch, he really does, lifts his head as his climax washes over him, as come spurts hard onto Butcher’s tongue and fuck, he’s seen Butcher swallow before but it’s never been like this, it’s never been so visceral and visible, never pulsed into his open mouth and dripped from his bottom lip, never streaked his beard with the way the movement of Hughie’s hand throws off his aim. He’s never had Butcher wipe it from his cheek with the back of a hand and lick it off, like he’s cleaning himself, like there’s any reason for him to do it beyond his own pleasure and the shuddering thrill that tears through Hughie.

Some clings to Hughie’s fingers, and Butcher licks those too, laps at what’s smeared messily over the head of Hughie’s cock, what’s spattered over his stomach.

“Oh my God, Butcher,” Hughie pants, reaching for the warm body that crawls over his, holding him close even as he whines -Hughie will never get sick of that fucking sound- and rocks his hips restlessly.

“I just need a minute,” Hughie says, and he really does, just has to get his breath back but he’s already feeling like he wants to continue, with that satin-clad bulge sliding against his skin. He hasn’t properly looked, but he so wants to, pushes a suddenly-heavy Butcher off despite the grumbling resistance he gets in response.

“Behave,” Hughie warns, feeling less of a slave to his helpless arousal and risking hooking a finger in the black satin collar adorning Butcher’s vulnerable throat. Butcher loves curling a hand around Hughie’s neck, holding him down or just letting him know his place, so he’s pleased but not overly surprised when it earns him a sort of startled, dark-eyed obedience.

“You’ve been so good for me, Butcher.” Hughie’s never been much of a Dom, but this, he can do, praise and rewards for good behaviour, Butcher shivering with need at the sound of his voice, at Hughie’s careful control of his throat, hopefully just enough that Butcher can feel his own pulse pound against that tightened collar. Fuck. The power does shoot straight to Hughie’s rallying cock and he tugs a little harder, just for a moment, to see Butcher’s brow crease helplessly. “Now I want to see you. Stay.”

Butcher huffs, but he settles on all fours, muscles standing out in his arms and, when Hughie slips off the mattress to look, in his thighs. His legs and feet are bare, but that shiny satin stretches over the curve of his ass and it looks fantastic, feels soft and smooth when Hughie runs his fingertips over it, trails them through the frills.

He doesn’t quite dare touch what’s intriguing him most, avoids tracing upwards to find the origins of the tail, unsure if he can handle the stark reality of it, but Butcher looks over his shoulder, eyes dark but clear, and then he shifts his weight from his palms to his elbows, lowering his chest to the mattress, stretching his spine out in a lovely curved line, and presents.

Hughie’s brain short circuits for a moment. He can’t believe this is happening, can’t possibly deserve this, Butcher on all fours with his ass in the air, his glorious tanned, muscular back in a perfect arch, the defined lines of his thighs. The ruffled panties stretched tight over that perfect ass, the base of that tail much less potentially mistakable than before.

He makes a shrill, unidentifiable sound at the sheer perfection of it all, or- not quite perfection. “Legs a little wider, there’s a good boy,” Hughie says without thinking, with a pat to the insides of Butcher’s thighs to spread them, to lower a little, to give Hughie the view of where his balls hang, the shape of them clearly visible through the shiny fabric, and his cock, hard and leaking and testing its confines. Hughie settles, kneeling behind him, reaches between his legs to caress, gently, to press his fingers against the damp spot Butcher’s left in his undeniable arousal, to toy with the waistband until the head of his cock is released, pressing against Butcher’s belly, just the tip protruding like a dogs from its sheath.

It's going to be difficult to explain some of Hughie’s spontaneous erections after this. He pets Butcher’s ass, runs his hands down shapely thighs, stares some more, utterly helpless in the face of this gorgeous submission.

And then carefully, gently, he pulls on the tail.

Butcher groans, maybe not dog-like but certainly animal, buries his face in his arms, pushes back in a request for more.

Hughie makes sure the shirts are within his reach, and then he pulls again, makes Butcher whine and pant and they’ve never done this. It’s always been Hughie on the bottom, always him stuffed with fingers, or cock, or toys, and this is so rare and unusual in its decadence that he wants it to go on forever. He pulls a few times, lets the soft fur slip through his fingers, testing the give of it and savouring Butcher’s sweet, helpless reaction, the role reversal, the power he’s been gifted.

And then he pulls down the waistband of the panties, frees the tail from where it's threaded through the leg to let it hang freely, and looks his fill.

Butcher is solid, strong, undeniably masculine. Seeing him penetrated is unfamiliar, and Hughie doesn’t know if he’s the first, but it’s been a long time. He pushes the tail up, lets it rest along the line of Butcher’s spin, watches goose pimples raise on his skin for a moment, scrapes his nails lightly down the flesh at the curve of his ass just to see him shiver.

The tail is attached to a thick, black plug that disappears inside of Butcher’s body without giving any indication of its size, but the rim of Butcher’s hole is swollen and pink, like he had to work to get it in. Lube shines on his skin and with every movement, the plug shifts, revealing just a tiny bit more, a tiny bit less, of the flared shape inside.

“Fuck,” Hughie breathes as he gently pulls the cheeks of Butcher’s ass apart, just hints at stretching him open, makes the black -steel, he confirms, with a flick of his nail against the metal that makes Butcher gasp- plug shift back and forth with the instinctive twitches of Butcher’s hole. Hughie could stay here forever and just watch, but Butcher’s cock is already hard and red and dripping, demanding attention. He hates having to wait, and Hughie wants to reward him.

He grips the tail and pulls again, gently at first but gradually harder, sees more and more of the flared shape revealed, Butcher’s hole rippling around it, hot and pink, abused. Hughie wants to lathe it with his tongue, his mouth watering, and it takes him a moment to realise why the urge is so strong. Beneath the already intoxicating scent of clean musk and arousal, of his own come, is caramel.

“Did you use flavoured lube?” Hughie asks, rhetorically, but Butcher tilts his hips hopefully and Hughie is not going to pass up an opportunity like that. He ducks his head and laps at the hot, swollen place where loosening muscles meet body-warmed steel, and Butcher cries out, through gritted teeth, still hiding his face in his arms. That’s alright. Hughie feels torn apart and exposed by this act too.

Breathlessly, he manages to ask, “Colour?” and relief floods through him when Butcher clutches at green. “Oh, thank fuck,” he pants, and he slides the plug back in, isn’t ready to lose the tail yet and doesn’t think Butcher is either, so he pushes his tongue in, works it in alongside the slimmer section at the base, tastes sweetness and artificial butter and the coppery tang of hidden, secret skin. He’s always loved this. He’s had girlfriends who loved it. He’s never dared to dream he might be allowed to do it to Butcher, closes his eyes to savour the sensations, muscles clenching tight around him, Butcher’s sweet little pants. Butcher loves doing this to him, too, would happily eat Hughie out for hours, and it’s incredible to finally be allowed to repay that favour.

Hughie kisses, sucks at Butcher’s rim when he can’t push his tongue past that resistance any more, slides the plug in and out until every single one of Butcher’s breaths is coming out as an overwhelmed whine.

Holy fuck. It’s getting easier for Hughie to understand the dark and possessive things that Butcher often murmurs to him in the heat of the moment, threats to keep him in bed forever, to never let him go, to make sure nobody else ever sees him wrecked and ruined and shattered open.

Finally, though, he slides out that plug. Butcher’s shapely back and shoulders flex with each of the ridges that stretch his hole wide, but finally it’s over. Hughie sets it aside, probes just gently with his fingers, feels the hot, wet give of heated muscle, can’t resist and has to trace the weakened ring of it with his tongue before delving inside, sliding so deep so easily that his own moan nearly drowns out Butcher’s wail. Fuck. Hughie has no idea why they’ve never done this before. He never wants to stop, lathes puckered skin and memorises the taste and feel of the transition to the soft, smooth pinkness inside.

With incomparable motivation, Hughie is beginning to rise to the challenge. He’s hard, if still a little sensitive, and Butcher is slick and open.

“Can I fuck you?”

Butcher has a fist clenched in the green shirt and he hits it against the mattress a few times, spreads his legs wider, lets out a pleading, desperate groan.

Hughie pauses only to grab a little more lube, tempted all the while by Butcher's restless shifting, the fluttering of his hole, and Hughie knows he’s not huge but it’s been a while for Butcher and the last thing he wants it to put him off wanting to do it again. He slicks himself, pauses, just takes in the sight, Butcher’s toes curling, thighs taut and defines, the ears protruding from the tangle of his hair.

He positions himself, takes his cock in hand and presses it to the beginnings of resistance, just the hint of soft, tight heat that will engulf him, and he says, “Want me to breed you, boy?”

Well there’s a kink Hughie hadn’t known he had, but his body responds to the urge, the impulse to fill a willing hole with come despite biological impossibility. Butcher’s only answer is a choked off cry, but he makes no movement for red and Hughie has to trust him, slides right in past the tight, hot resistance and into slick, buttery softness. Fuck, it’s good, Butcher’s body trembling beneath his, his hole stretching wide around Hughie’s cock.

“Good boy,” Hughie breathes, running reverent hands down shuddering sides. “So good for me, that’s it. You feel incredible.”

He really does, but Hughie’s already come once and Butcher is close, brought there by their play and his own vulnerability, by Hughie’s words and hands and cock. There’s no way he’s not going to get Butcher off first, when Butcher always takes such good care of him. When Hughie definitely wants to do this again.

The angle’s difficult, and Hughie hasn’t topped in a long time, but he knows what feels good, finds the movement that makes Butcher gasp and push back against him every time and builds it slowly. He thinks he knows what Butcher needs, but Hughie wants him strung out and desperate before he sets up the brutal, pounding rhythm he’s not going to be able to sustain for very long.

He’s certainly getting no complaints. For someone who tends to top -although Hughie is beginning to suspect that might be as much about expectation as it is inclination- he’s sensitive, responsive and trusting, and Hughie’s heart aches when he thinks of just how much he’s been allowed to see.

His pace is picking up without him really having to think about it, Butcher muffling an animal sound in his arms, pushing back harder, seeking more. And it’s difficult for Hughie to find the right balance of words, sexy and dirty without venturing into the overdone porn category, but he does his best, even with the blissful, warring sensations of being inside Butcher.

“You’re so fucking good, Butcher, taking me so well. You want me to fill you? Want to start this together next time, so I can fuck you first, then plug you up, keeping it inside? ‘Cause I’ll do it. Whatever you want. Slide your tail right back in, pump you full again later, fuck you as my come leaks out.” Hughie’s got no idea where it’s all coming from but it’s starting to sound like a list of excellent suggestions with Butcher’s ass clenching arrhythmically around him, clinging to his cock whenever he withdraws like it wants to suck him back in, Butcher trembling with how close he is, how much he wants it, wants Hughie.

Fuck, it’s a rush, and Hughie has to tamp down on his own enjoyment, determined to have Butcher come first, sets one hand on Butcher’s hip and reaches around with the other, fondles the hang of his balls, still wrapped in tangled, damp satin, makes Butcher whine, each slap of Hughie’s pelvis against his ass interrupting it with a hitching breath.

Butcher’s cock is hot and hard and dripping by the time Hughie wraps a hand around it, manages to stroke in time with his thrusts, wishes he could go faster and harder but he can’t in this position, gets deeper instead, twists his wrist at the head, can feel Butcher approaching that point like he’s never been able to before, legs shaking, breath catching until he comes with a sob, pulsing through Hughie’s fingers onto the sheets, clenching like a vice around him, getting so tight and hot that Hughie follows him over that edge with a near-painful relief.

He buries deep, and Butcher keens at that or the sensation of Hughie come against his insides, whines when Hughie pulls out but stays where he is, even as he catches his breath, limbs trembling, to let Hughie see the wreck he’s made of that open, swollen hole, clutching at nothing. And Hughie’s breathless by then, exhausted, lets Butcher slump onto his side to blink sleepily at him, the softest smile on his face that Hughie’s ever seen.

“You’re so good,” Hughie assures him, leans in to kiss at his beard, to pet his hair, had been considering cleaning up their mess but elects to leave it for later, instead curling up beside Butcher, pulling a blanket over them both, just pressing his lips to whatever skin he can reach, stroking his hands down Butcher’s arms, needing to feel warm and close, to hear his breathing slow, to see him relax into the sheets like he hasn’t been able to all day.

He’s so fucking beautiful, and Hughie is overcome with a wave of affection so strong in that moment he can hardly contain it. He wants this, wants all of it, but it’s not the time to be having any sort of conversation so he stays silent, just buries his face in the hollow of Butcher’s neck and breathes there for a while, until Butcher’s arms come up to enclose him.

“Are you okay?” Hughie asks, after a while, and he doesn’t know if he expects a verbal response or not but to feel Butcher’s rumbling laugh against his chest is endlessly reassuring.

“You know dogs are fucking colour blind, don’t you?”

Oh, so they’re back to their regularly scheduled programming, then. He gives Butcher a shove, hears and feels him laugh some more, grabs a pillow to hit him with it. “So’s the asshole who bought those shirts!”


End file.
